Pie ala mode to Robert Burns
by stu pidasso
It was half past the third hour of a mid-November night.
I was enjoying 19 year old scotch into the deep twilight
when I heard an odd knock (it gave me a bit of fright).
So, I tuned my ear to hear what hid from the candlelight.
I knew it wasn't my daughter, or my son, for that matter.
And if it were my ex-wife, she'd have to be a mad-hatter.
Another sound, but longer, more like heavy pitter patter,
so I picked up my Louisville and gripped it like a batter.
I rose and inched my way, as silently as I could,
into the dark, carefully, for my floor had creaky wood.
My vision was still janky, and i prayed my aim was good
as I held my bat at ready like a home protector should.
It was then I spied a shadow, something was in the hall.
I thought it might be a ghost until it bumped into the wall.
The noise confirmed the reality, as it would for damn near all,
that I had an intruder! Good thing I was ready to play ball.
I stood my ground nervously, waiting for that "someone",
trying to convince myself that this might be a it of fun.
When the form emerged, I swung like I wanted a home run;
but he scooched sideways suddenly resulting in "strike one".
He tumbled over the sofa, not knowing what to do
and it was then the second form let his presence be known, too.
The second somersaulted across the floor as my next swing flew,
barely avoiding injury, leaving me with strike number two.
The first now made an attempt to bull rush straight at me.
I tripped him as I dodged and turned just in time to see
the second burglar soon enough to meet him with my knee.
He let loose a conniption, as I missed him with strike three.
Not waiting for them to seize the opportunity to take another turn
I threw my Saint Magdalene, thereby breaking the glass urn.
I followed it with lit candlestick, and they were forced to learn
what any good Celt knows, that the greatest scotch makes robbers burn.
(My) Life is a Battlefield
2 weeks ago